


Let Me Tell You a Story (and show you my heart)

by Emrys MK (mk_malfoy)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin takes care of Arthur, Protective Merlin, Sharing a Bed, Sick Arthur, Yule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-11-26 15:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mk_malfoy/pseuds/Emrys%20MK
Summary: Arthur, newly crowned King of Camelot, gets sick at Yule, his favorite holiday of the year. He is disappointed that he will miss the festivities, frustrated because Merlin is telling him what to do, and feels awful because every bone in his body aches. Through it all, Merlin, ever the faithful servant, takes very good care of Arthur.





	Let Me Tell You a Story (and show you my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer**: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> A thousand thank yous to the wonderful mods for running this most festive of fests once again, and hugs and kisses to my always magnificent beta.

Merlin stepped into the much too quiet room and softly closed the door behind him with his foot. He was careful not to trip over the basketful of freshly laundered clothing he had left by the door earlier.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. With the exception of when Arthur slept, his chambers were bathed in daylight or candlelight, and Merlin rarely spent time in Arthur’s chambers in the dark of night. 

This night, however, was not at all a normal one for the king of Camelot or his manservant.

The usually filled-to-the-brim-with-energy Arthur Pendragon had come down with a nasty cold, and his boundless vigour had been replaced with lethargy and incessant whinging. 

Merlin had been subjected to the latter non-stop all day (thank goodness the king had finally fallen asleep and given Merlin a respite.)

Arthur’s initial complaint had been how he didn’t want to be sick (who did?) Second, it had been how much everyone else would miss his presence at the council meeting (as if there was no one else who could report on the goings-on of Camelot and its surrounding areas.) 

Merlin had listened like the good servant he was and hadn’t responded with his usual snippity comebacks, but only because it was blatantly clear that Arthur felt awful. Merlin was all for giving as good as he got, but not in this situation. He didn’t at all like seeing Arthur sick; he felt protective and wanted to make it all better, especially when the king complained that his head throbbed, his nose hurt from sneezing and blowing it, and his entire body ached. Merlin hadn’t mentioned it, but as Arthur had talked (with great difficulty) his chest rattled.

Gaius, after checking over Arthur and plying him with various medicinal concoctions, had taken Merlin aside and told him that, while the king’s prognosis was for a complete recovery, he was quite ill and Merlin would need to keep a close eye on him.

And _that_ was why the room was in almost complete darkness.

The only light came from the full moon, which, while bright and helpful to those out in the open with no walls or ceilings to block its view, only helped so much by the time it reached Arthur’s chambers – but Merlin carefully made his way to the bed, opened the bed curtains, set down the tray on the bedside table, and checked Arthur’s temperature by placing his hand on Arthur’s forehead, which was far too warm.

At least he was still sleeping, which his body needed to recover, but his breathing was somewhat more laboured than it had been before, and his skin was pale and clammy with perspiration. Merlin sat on the edge of the bed and ran his other hand through Arthur’s dampened fringe. The king mumbled something that sounded like _Merlin_ (or was Merlin merely hearing what he wanted to?) in his sleep but didn’t wake, which was most definitely a good thing; it was too late to deal with cranky kings, no matter how sweet and innocent they looked while they slept.

Sweet and innocent… Merlin almost laughed.

He instead grimaced as Arthur’s forehead creased and his facial muscles moved ever so slightly. Merlin didn’t like to see Arthur, ruler of Camelot, defending champion of every contest over the past four years, the one who had been trained from birth to kill, and pompous prat extraordinaire, like this.

Especially at this time of year.

As Merlin knew all too well from his years with Arthur, the castle was busy year-round and there were celebrations throughout for various reasons, but it was Yule that Arthur looked forward to the most. This was the only time of year the king allowed himself to truly enjoy himself. He had long ago shared with Merlin that, as a child, his father had always taken the time to go wassailing with him. No matter how busy he had been, and no matter how much his time was taken up devoted to all the things that a king had to do on a daily basis, he had made a point of spending at least a day with his son where, unless it was a matter of life or death, he was not to be interrupted. Arthur had shared many a story about these special outings.

Merlin grinned at the memory of Arthur’s face when he had relayed these memories of happier and innocent times, but the grin slipped when the past again morphed into the present. Arthur had been given strict orders to remain in bed for a week, but Merlin hadn’t been born yesterday. He knew the king would attempt to do whatever it took to go about his duties as normal. _What is a little sickness_? he would probably say. _I am the king, Merlin. You can’t tell me what to do_, he would most definitely add when Merlin protested.

Merlin didn’t see how he could logistically keep Arthur in bed for seven days. It was an impossible ask.

There were only so many stories Merlin could regale Arthur with. No matter how enthralling tales of Ealdor might be, and no matter how much Arthur seemed to enjoy them and ask for more, they would not keep the king of Camelot in bed for a week!

Barring Arthur’s legs giving out on him, there was not a chance in Hades that he would allow Yule to pass him by without participating.

But Merlin would do the best he could. He had a prophecy to see through to the end, after all. It would not at all do for Arthur to die before he and Merlin fulfilled Kilgharrah’s esoteric musings.

Just how he was to keep Arthur immobile, however, eluded him.

Already, the king had pouted endlessly that his subjects expected to see him, that he couldn’t allow a little cold to keep him down. 

He had complained endlessly that Gaius and Merlin had no authority over him. 

But not once had he followed these protestations with attempts to get out of bed and carry on with his duties.

And certainly someone who did not feel like death warmed over, who was bound and determined to have their way, would most definitely have at least endeavoured to do this, at least that was Merlin’s thought on the matter.

Arthur had merely grumbled and promised that when he got better, he would find another manservant to take Merlin’s place.

Through all of this, Merlin had nodded and told Arthur that was all fine and good, and that he would take his leave and return to Ealdor like a good little servant when that time came, but until he was sacked, he would make sure his king recovered.

Arthur had glared, but, really, what else could he do since he obviously wasn’t in any position to prove his manservant and court physician wrong?

When Gaius had last come to check on Arthur, he had told Merlin he deserved a knighthood for putting up with Arthur’s histrionics.

Arthur hadn’t appreciated that at all and had threatened to not only sack Merlin, but Gaius as well. And then he had sneezed four times in succession and fallen back on his pillow in frustration as Gaius assured him that this, too, would pass.

Merlin could still see the glare Arthur had given them. If looks could kill…

“Merlin, is that you?” croaked Arthur, opening his eyes but almost immediately closing them again. “Ugh, I thought Gaius said I would get better, but I feel terrible.”

Merlin reluctantly removed his hand from where it was settled on Arthur’s forehead and rested it on his lap. “It’s only been a day, Arthur. These things take time to run their course.” Arthur’s exasperated grunt very nearly had Merlin chuckling. He didn’t, but only because he was reminded of a time not too far in the past when he himself had been sick with a bad cold and had complained endlessly to Gaius.

If sick people couldn’t complain, what fun was that?

“I can’t believe I had to get sick now. It is the worst timing,” Arthur groused before he coughed. “Have you talked to Leon about representing me at the Yule celebrations? He assisted my father and will know what needs doing.” Arthur sneezed and groaned. “Make it stooooop,” he whinged.

Merlin felt for Arthur; he knew what it was like to be sick and have no energy and to feel like death.

Or to feel as if death would be preferable.

“I have, and Leon has assured me that he has it all under control, sire. You are not to worry yourself with these matters,” he added, knowing as he spoke them he would get the evil eye, which he did. “Not my words. Leon’s,” he added.

Arthur closed his eyes and scrunched up his forehead as he made a pained noise. “Can you do that thing you did before you left earlier? It seems the only thing that helps,” Arthur said softly as he squeezed his eyes tighter.

“You w- want me to rub your temples for you?” Merlin asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a small sigh. This request was one he would rather refuse. Not because he didn’t want to help Arthur. He did. Very much so. But this was too much. Too intimate. Too evocative. Too much a reminder of what Merlin wanted but would never have.

“Just like you did this morning,” Arthur added slowly as he opened his eyes. “You also rubbed my shoulders and arms to help with the achiness.” His sad eyes pled with Merlin to say yes.

How was Merlin to say no to that?

He nodded sadly, reminded of how sickness changed a person. That Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, was willingly asking his manservant, whom he called idiot on a regular basis, to massage him was surreal.

If only Arthur weren’t asking because he was sick. But he was and there was no getting around that. 

Merlin wished he could say no, but he wouldn’t.

It wasn’t the king’s fault that his manservant had gone and fallen in love or lust or deep like with Arthur. The king had no idea that his request hurt Merlin.

But this was his own fault. Really, it was. _Silly, stupid Merlin_, Merlin repeated beneath his breath. If only he hadn’t been cheeky earlier.

Yes, just as Arthur said, Merlin _had_ helped Arthur feel better earlier by massaging him, but his actions had been the result of him threatening to settle in the bed beside Arthur if he complained one more time about his _bothersome manservant_ taking care of him.

It had been a joke.

Well, obviously, Arthur had complained, so really Merlin hadn’t had a choice, had he? His mum had told him long ago that if you said you were going to do something, it was only right that you followed through. If you didn’t, your word most likely wouldn’t be given serious consideration in the future.

Arthur had protested mightily, but once Merlin joined him under the covers and began stroking Arthur’s hair and massaging his temples, shoulders, and arms, he had closed his eyes and fallen asleep.

Merlin grinned at the memory. He had intended to get up and leave as soon as Arthur was asleep, but when he’d tried, Arthur made a sound of protest, so Merlin had waited a while before he got up and went to check on Gaius and to see if the court physician needed any help.

Nothing else for it, Merlin toed off his boots and removed his kerchief before climbing into the bed and settling beside Arthur. Arthur immediately turned towards him and smiled as he closed his eyes and burrowed into his manservant.

Merlin stroked Arthur’s hair for some time before he moved his fingers to his temples. As he began to massage them he whispered words of magic that he hoped would help hasten Arthur’s recovery.

“I already feel better,” Arthur whispered sometime later as one of his hands reached over and grasped Merlin’s. “Thank you.”

Merlin nodded, but of course Arthur couldn’t see. Merlin briefly contemplated getting up and acting a little more like a proper manservant should – he needed to put away the laundered clothes and tidy Arthur’s chambers, but as it was dark, he wouldn’t be able to.

And he was tired. He was in a comfortable, warm bed. Who was he to question it? So he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

When he next woke, he felt something pressing against him and was momentarily frightened until he remembered where he was and that he had fallen asleep next to Arthur. 

He opened his eyes and was startled to see that he and Arthur were now practically sleeping in each other’s arms. How had that happened? He attempted to extricate himself but Arthur, who Merlin only now realised was awake – a moonbeam lit his pale face and gave the already ill king an ethereal aura – was having none of it. He pulled Merlin towards him.

Merlin opened his mouth to protest but Arthur beat him to it. “You can’t leave. I am starting to feel better. As your king, I am asking you to stay here with me.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Erm, is that a command or are you still feeling so bad that you do not know what you are saying?”

Arthur chuckled. “The latter, no doubt, but please don’t go,” he asked, sounding pathetic and looking adorable.

Merlin settled back down and closed his eyes as Arthur burrowed into him once again.

The next time Merlin awoke, Arthur was sneezing. It took a few seconds for Merlin’s eyes to acclimate to the darkness, but the small sliver of moonlight allowed him to see that Arthur looked miserable as he blew his nose and leant his head against the headboard, where he was now seated. He was probably trying to breathe easier.

Merlin briefly wondered if he would get sick as a result of being so close to Arthur, but if he did, he did. It was too late to worry about that now. “It should be time for you to take another potion. How is your head?” he asked as he pushed himself up so he was sitting. He reached over and felt Arthur’s head and was only a tiny bit surprised when there was no protesting. “I think your temperature has risen,” he said, studying Arthur’s pale face and thinking Arthur could do with a cold bath. But Arthur would not want to move, and as it was not dire at this time, Merlin decided to let it go for now and try to get Arthur to go back to sleep. He would worry about getting Arthur to bathe and cool down later.

“Better, but every bone in my body hurts,” Arthur replied as he closed his eyes and made a pitiful sound reminiscent to the noises the puppies Arthur’s dog had recently given birth to made. It hurt Merlin to see and hear Arthur like this and he wanted to take away this pain. 

He had tried to do as much as he dared.

There was more he could attempt, but as Merlin retrieved a potion for Arthur he wasn’t convinced that death was a proper reward for his efforts.

“Tell me a story about you, your mum, and Will going wassailing,” Arthur said as he accepted the phial and downed the contents. He handed the phial back to Merlin. “I guess this will make me sleep again,” he mumbled as he settled himself back beneath the covers and closed his eyes. “You can stop when I go to sleep.”

“Aye, aye, sire,” Merlin whispered before clearing his throat and settling himself beside Arthur and getting comfortable. “I think last time I regaled you with the year Old Man Simmons nearly died during our wassailing trip when I was in my thirteenth year,” he began as he massaged Arthur’s shoulders and remembered the evasive comments he’d given when Arthur asked what an old man was doing felling an oak.

That was definitely a story for another day… and time. Far, far in the future.

“I think maybe you’ll get a good laugh out of this one.” Merlin chuckled, knowing that Arthur loved hearing stories where his manservant found himself in difficult situations, but when Arthur opened his eyes and smiled, his eyes still looking sad, but with a tinge of warmth (yes, Merlin was aware that he was probably making all of this up in his mind and that these looks meant nothing more than someone who was sick being thankful for someone taking care of them), Merlin thought his heart was doing flips. 

He could only hope he wasn’t blushing. 

He was so close to Arthur. So. Very. Close. 

All he had to do was lean in and press his lips to Arthur’s. And he wanted to so very badly. He’d wanted to for almost a year.

But now wasn’t the time. Probably _never_ would be the time, but certainly not now.

Merlin took a deep, calming breath when Arthur finally closed his eyes and moved his hands to Arthur’s arms. He began massaging them as he willed his heart to return to normal, not trusting himself to speak quite yet.

“When I was eight, Will and me got hold of my mother’s wassail that she made for the adults. She always made two batches: one for the children and one for the adults. I have no idea what we were thinking,” he said, but he laughed as soon as he said it. “Okay, yeah, so we probably wanted to see what it was about this drink that made the adults laugh so much. Anyway, we made ourselves so sick that we were unable to participate in that year’s wassailing. Well, I should add that my mum punished me by telling me I couldn’t go, but Will and me did get sick so I couldn’t have gone anyway. I cried and cried, but my mother was having none of it. As you’ve seen, she has a heart of gold, but let me tell you that she only had to look at me when I’d done something wrong and I was done for. I didn’t get in trouble much because I was, as Will called me, the _perfect little angel_ most of the time, but when I got a wild hair I could be as rotten as Will.”

Arthur laughed, or attempted to. It was more like a grunt followed by a fit of coughs, and his face morphed into another grimace. Merlin’s mouth murmured _shhh_, but of course Arthur couldn’t see.

“When everyone else got back from wassailing, Will and me were still crying. Mum wasn’t much fussed about it – she never backed down from her punishments – but Old Man Simmons snuck us a few wassail-soaked cakes, erm, not the ones for the adults,” he added, anticipating Arthur asking, “and told us what we missed.”

Arthur began snoring, but Merlin didn’t stop his ministrations, hoping that in some small way he was helping Arthur get better. Yes, he knew that the potions were what would end up making Arthur better, but as both his mother and Gaius had shared with him, Merlin knew that caring for and tending a sick person did their part. His mother had once shared with him that one should never discount the impact another person’s bedside manner could have on someone who was ill.

He lifted his head, leaned over, and kissed Arthur on the forehead. He would do anything to help Arthur, but he doubted the king of Camelot had an inkling of that.

And that was the way it would remain.

At least for now. Perhaps one day things would change and these grandiose ideas of his would become reality, but for now Merlin wouldn’t entertain such thoughts. Allowing himself to do so would merely exacerbate the hurt that came with his current reality.

And his current reality was that he had a king to keep alive. At all costs.

He settled his head back on the pillow, turned towards a snoring Arthur, and settled in for what he hoped would be a good night’s sleep. “I love you, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin whispered as he touched his finger to his lips, kissed it, and pressed it to Arthur’s chapped lips before closing his eyes.


End file.
